


The Symbol

by Greykite



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Kai Leng as living vibrator, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, after ME2, before ME3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greykite/pseuds/Greykite
Summary: "What should have been the most perfect union — alliance in the name of the future, in the name of humanity — turned out to be the worst of failures."
Relationships: Illusive Man | Jack Harper/Kai Leng, Illusive Man | Jack Harper/Male Shepard
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	The Symbol

The Illusive Man doesn't sleep with men. Usually he doesn't — but this isn't a man, either, if you think about it. He is a tool that can serve in one matter as well as in another.

Kai Leng lies before him (under him): in all his implants and improvements, balanced weapon for confident hands.

The former N7 operative. Ruthless to the enemies as well as to the allies. Necessity, pressed under the skin; all in the name of a goal — and if the Illusive Man closes his eyes for a second, sliding his hands over a strong body, that confines a dangerous, self-aware force, — a completely different name can creep into his mind through the back door.

The same name he exhales on the verge of hearing, squeezing inside Leng in one motion, slightly painful for both of them.

_Shepard._

"And I've managed to think that I knew you."

Leng breathes unevenly, heavily; at the sound of the name the lower part of his face, not covered by a metal-plastic half-mask, curves. Narrow lips twitch.

"Tell me to kill him," Leng says hoarsely.

“No. Not yet.”

The Illusive Man shakes his head. His fingers run over Leng’s bare chest, as if — only as if — casually pressing on the dark metal inclusions on the flesh. Leng winces, but remains silent, adjusting to these touches, as well as to the presence within his body. Leng smells of sweat and, a little, of blood — he came here immediately after the elimination mission; he smells of someone else's fear — not his own, not at all.

He smells just as Shepard must have smelled when he returned with his report to the conference room on the ship that had been built for him (and only for him).

The Illusive Man had never met with Shepard face-to-face. But during the years of intense, unremitting observation — the years of data collection and reconstruction — a key element of his plans had become known to the Illusive Man to a degree that no lover could have dreamed of. (Miss Lawson claimed to have this exceptional knowledge — but her field of vision was too limited, too distorted by envy.)

The way how Shepard gave orders — never raising his tone, in a flat voice that could be nevertheless heard clearly even in the thick of battle. How he raised his rifle to his shoulder, lean to the buttstock; how he clenched his fist in completely different manner — for a blow, in an argument with politicians, during an inspirational speech.

Shepard’s absent passions, his willingness to sacrifice little for more, his detached vision of himself — everything seemed so appropriate, so proper and right, and all that remained was to make a move towards him. The only right move.

_"I gave you everything, Shepard."_

Opportunity and right to act. Concessions that no one else was allowed.

The Illusive Man had even seriously considered meeting with him face-to-face one day, as soon as Shepard agreed to take the place that had been assigned to him, prepared on purpose, in advance. A little lower place than the leader’s, but still on the right hand of him.

And it ended like… that: two holograms, one opposite the other — two predators arguing over their prey: the priceless base behind the Omega-4 relay.

A dull scarlet glow. A cold blue glow. No compromise.

What should have been the most perfect union — alliance in the name of the future, in the name of humanity — turned out to be the worst of failures.

 _"Do you think you can guide this galaxy alone?”_  
The Illusive Man's mouth twists in a bitter, unsatisfied grin.

Leng raises his chin, leans his jaw forward — and the Illusive Man roughly covers his mouth with his own. His tongue meets no resistance — Leng knows too well who his master is.

Shepard would have been different. He would have argued even here, in such circumstances, fighting hard for every imaginary inch; but the Illusive Man was not miss Lawson, whom Shepard had opened like an oyster, sliding under her smooth, perfect shell with the blade of his own steel will.

The Illusive Man pulls Leng up by his right hip — and Leng understands the wordless order, wrapping his legs around Illusive Man’s waist. Squeezing his fingers on his master’s shoulders is the only liberty that allowed to him; he may as well leave bruises— but that's not what the Illusive Man is thinking about right now.

Leng doesn't have any trace of that memorable sophistication. That complexity. All in him is for show, all deliberately on display.

Shepard had the best hidden inside of him — enhanced blood vessels, bones, and muscles; nerve fibers with improved conductivity, increased reaction rate; immunity to alien diseases as well as immunity to almost any persuasion.

Even before his death, Shepard could rightfully be called a model of Humanity. After that, with eyes that could see more clearly the true state of affairs in the galaxy; with hands that could crush the organo-synthetic bodies of the Reapers; with a will that led whole armies under his banner, he became unsurpassed.

Even the scarlet grid of scars that crossed his face with the wrong double shadow didn't spoil it. Exactly the opposite.

If only Shepard could be improved a little more, without the help of the traitorous miss Lawson — but with the assistance of priceless fragments of alien techno-biology. The first step of Humanity on the path of a new, absolute superiority — who would be better suited as an example for others to follow? At the thought of this, the Illusive Man pushes against Leng even harder, more insistently. Leng does not even moan, just slightly growls, but remains obedient.

Leng's own penis is hard, but the Illusive Man is not going to touch it.

He would have done it for Shepard: if they had stood side by side, facing each other, looking at the Earth — perfect and beautiful — floating in its orbit in the viewport next to them. Perhaps then he would even have allowed Shepard to touch his own cock — would have allowed him to wrap his arm around them both with a hand that was used to a rifle, much more callused and muscular than his own.

He would have done it if Shepard had remained the symbol that the Illusive Man had once seen in him.

Not a rival. Not a defector.

The symbol.

His movements are becoming more desperate, more abrupt, more impatient. But this treatment is just normal for Leng.

“Order. To me.” Len almost begs. Almost inaudible, almost desperate; there are sparks in his dark eyes, sparks that look slightly like signals of a malfunction in Shepard's artificial retina.

In Shepard’s brown, cold eyes that would never look at the Illusive Man with such devotion. Such devotion, in fact, would only spoil their gaze.

Sensing the approach of his release, the Illusive Man slips out of Leng. He rises to his feet, making a gesture — a turn of the head, a movement of the chin — ordering Leng to change his position: to kneel in front of him and open his mouth.

The prosthetic limbs touch the floor with a slight artificial sound; the moist heat of the mouth encircles the ready-to-pour flesh.

The Illusive Man closes his eyes.

He had never imagined anything like this with Shepard; but, after all, the symbolism may be different.

“You can try it,” he promises to Leng, lowering a heavy hand on his head, not letting him pull away, not letting even a drop of sperm spill on the perfectly shiny floor.

But in fact he would like to do it himself. If he couldn't convince him — if he couldn't remake him — then break this person with his own hands, reduce Shepard from a symbol and a hero to the pieces of metal and meat barely holding together.

Claim him at least in such way.

If it didn't work out otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of fanfic "Символ" (https://ficbook.net/readfic/7518242) written by me


End file.
